


the woods are lovely, dark and deep

by someawkwardprose



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Magical Realism, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Femslash, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose
Summary: There's a witch in Roundstone Woods, and Gwen is going to make a deal with her.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper/Suzie Costello, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 21
Kudos: 12
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: 2021 Femslash Fest





	1. into the woods

**Author's Note:**

> GOOD DAY TO MY FELLOW WLW. hello 2 the rest of you 2 ig. /jk  
> I had a hard time getting anything done this month because my brain is currently occupied with ferrets and also a dissertation deadline, but I did get the first chapter of this completed (and a good chunk of chapter two!) early on for [femslash fest](https://torchwoodfanfests.tumblr.com/femslash2021), and wanted to make sure i actually participated! written for the prompts "17. courage/fear" and "20. fantasy".  
> title comes from the robert frost poem, 'stopping in the woods on a snowy evening'  
> big shout out to [nik](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) who is, as ever, the best beta (and friend <3).

_“Magic is all about intent,” Grandmother had told Gwen when she was only a little girl, sitting on her knee. (Her grandmother didn't look a day over twenty-five, and wouldn't until the day she died, when her years caught up to her all at once and she simply turned to dust in her bed. No one was quite sure how: some speculated it was some inherent goodness that kept her youthful; when she died, others whispered that it was the devil finally collecting on his deal.)_

_"Dark magic can be used for good, light for evil. It is about how you use it."_

_"Why don't you use dark magic, Grandmother?" Gwen had asked, because she was clever and bright and a little bit touched herself - she could see the swirling lights around her grandmother, so different from the void of those magic users who touched the dark._

_Grandmother had looked at her sadly. "Because it costs you, my love. And it can cost you everything."_

_(Thinking back, twenty years later, Gwen would wonder if Gwyneth's own Sight had allowed her a glimpse into Gwen's future.)_

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a witch. She lived deep in the heart of Roundstone Woods. 

Everyone knew that - the entire village had chased her into them when she had killed three people, almost a decade ago. Ianto liked to remind everyone she had also killed the werewolf that had been plaguing them for sixteen years, and while Gwen didn't necessarily agree with her methods, she could perhaps admit they might have been necessary. It didn't matter, really, what the witch's morals were; Gwen was fairly sure that what she was about to do was fairly unethical and would get her cast out of her home and into the trees, if not burned by the people she called friends. 

"Gwen, please, we can find another way," Ianto begged; he was close to tears, which was probably the closest her little brother could come to admitting he loved her. 

"We can't," Gwen said, and resolutely did not look at the _thing_ wrapped in a sheet in the corner of the living room. The thing that was not Rhys, because it was just an empty shell now. But Gwen was going to fix that, whatever it did to her soul. 

"She'll kill you," Ianto said, grabbing her hands. "And where will I be?" 

"I am coming back," she promised, squeezing him back tightly. “We both will.” (She refused to believe otherwise.)

"Gwen," he started, his voice breaking, and she pulled him forward, pressing her lips to his forehead. 

"I am coming back for you." She untangled herself. "Help me load...let’s get him onto the cart."

* * *

The woods were dark and cold, and the cart was heavy. Gwen pulled her shawl tighter around herself and fingered the amulet her grandmother had given her. She was not afraid of the wolves that roamed these woods, nor the bears, the boars, or the bandits. Such mortal things could be stopped easily, by mortal means or otherwise. The other things that haunted this forest were less easy to dismiss. 

She could not let that fear stop her, though. 

She and Rhys hadn’t even been married a year. Their anniversary was in three weeks. He couldn’t miss that.

Gwen swallowed back a sob. 

It had happened so fast. A stray arrow, a careless shot. Rhys pushing her out of the way. Thankfully, only Ianto had seen it; if she could bring Rhys back fast enough, no one else would have to know what she was doing. The village had only just stopped watching her with suspicion, after her grandmother’s death. This - this would tip the scales entirely. 

Ianto would tell them she and Rhys had come down with the sickness that had been plaguing the village lately. No one would visit, too afraid of catching it themselves. By the time they had ‘recovered,’ Rhys would be fine, and no one would know any better. 

Of course, Ianto would have to ‘quarantine’ too, but he had enough food for two weeks, and she would hopefully be home before then. And he was resourceful. He would be fine. 

She told herself these things and kept walking, even as dread sat low in her stomach like curdled milk, even as the rain came on and true darkness fell. Ianto would be fine, Rhys would be alive, and they would be a happy family again. 

(Gwen didn’t make a habit of lying; she prayed that she wasn’t now.)

She clutched her grandmother’s amulet tighter and kept dragging the cart deeper into the woods. 

* * *

_“Witch! Witch!” the mother of the boy cried hysterically, launching herself at the other woman. “You killed my son! The witch killed my son!”_

_“It was the only way,” Mistress Costello said, sweeping her hand. A great wind swept up, and the woman fell on the ground beside the corpse, sobbing. “I’m sorry.”_

_“You - you -”_

_From fifteen-year old Gwen’s vantage point - the smallest window of their cottage, beside Ianto who was on his tip-toes attempting to peek out like she was - Mistress Costello was a dark void, sucking in the light around her, something dangerous and wild. Untouchable. She gazed upon the village magnanimously as they gathered round, fearful and awed. “I saved you all from the Beast that has been plaguing us. You should thank me.”_

_The Beast lay dead at her feet, half-human, half-man. Its body was shrinking, becoming less than the monster that had terrorised them all, its hair fading back into its skin, its teeth shrinking. It looked terribly like Thomas the Huntsman, and Gwen tightened her grip on Ianto’s wrist._

_“You killed my wife!” Daffyd shouted, clutching Mary to his chest._

_“Sacrifices had to be made,” Mistress Costello said, as if it didn’t matter. As if they weren’t people too. “I have saved us!”_

_“Witch!” Father Ieuan spat. “Witch, you have damned yourself!”_

_The benevolence on Mistress Costello’s face faded, confusion creeping its way over her features. “I have slain the monster that has been killing your children. I have ended the curse on Thomas - he may rest in peace now!”_

_“You have damned your soul to Hell and are trying to drag us with you!”_

_“Father-”_

_“Nothing you can say can save you now,” Father Ieuan said contemptuously. “You cannot reason with us, demon! You have made a deal with the Devil, and his gifts always come at a cost.”_

_“You - Hypocrite!” Mistress Costello drew herself to her full height. “You came to me, begging for a solution, and spit on me when I offer it! I told you such magic comes at a price!”_

_Father Ieuan turned from her, disgust clear on his face, and Gwen watched as Mistress Costello’s expression faltered, turning desperate, a snarl forming on her lips. “Your precious God did not send us salvation! I did!”_

_“And for that, we will spare your life,” Father Ieuan said, and raised his hands to silence the objections coming from the rapidly growing crowd. Gwen fancied she could smell the rising bloodlust from the people gathering, and she bit her lip, wondering if she should take Ianto and go to Rhys’ home, on the other side of the village. “She killed the monster, God rest his soul. Let her live with that, when her own rots in Hell.”_

_“You’ll regret that,” Mistress Costello said darkly. “You should be thanking me on bended knee!”_

_“Begone woman!” Father Ieuan shouted. “Only the Lord’s patience is infinite, and I am reaching the end of mine!”_

_Perhaps Mistress Costello realised that the people around her were not grateful, that they more resembled hounds baying for blood than men; perhaps she simply lost her patience as well. She thrust her hands outward, and a dust storm surrounded her, just as the first rocks began to be thrown, which were caught in the wind swirling around her. For a second, Mistress Costello looked up and caught Gwen’s eye. Gwen was rooted to the spot, the contact zinging like lightning between them, before the sand blew up over Mistress Costello’s face._

_Suddenly, the wind stopped. Gwen blinked, and Mistress Costello was gone._

* * *

Gwen followed the smell of smoke and the pull of the void until she found the house in the woods. It was a small cabin but warmly lit, welcoming in the true darkness that had fallen on the woods. 

The witch was already waiting for her by the door. 

Cloaked in shadows, the light only just illuminated her face, but she looked the same as she had all those years ago: cold, aloof, and beautiful. The air around her was just as dangerous, though, and something about her said that she was twice as deadly. 

But Gwen wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she had no one left to protect by cowering in her cottage. 

“Mistress Costello,” she greeted, curtseying as best she could with her heavy load. “I have come to make a deal-” 

“I know why you are here, granddaughter of Gwyneth,” the witch said, tilting her head. “And I know what burden you are carrying. Go home, girl. He isn’t worth it.” 

Gwen bristled. “Mistress Costello, with all due respect,” she said carefully. “Who are you to know how much my husband means to me?” 

Mistress Costello rolled her eyes, an almost full-body movement. “Children,” she muttered. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.” 

“I don’t want to play with anything,” Gwen snapped. “I didn’t just come here on a whim.” 

The witch just looked at Gwen for a time, and Gwen tried to channel every inch of her famed stubbornness into her expression. After a long moment, Mistress Costello sighed and brought a hand up to rub at her forehead. “Come inside, girl. We will talk there.” 

Gwen tried not to smile, relieved. The warmth of the fire inside would be a relief after the day’s walk, and she took a step forward, only for the witch to snap, “Leave the corpse there.” 

“What if an animal comes-” 

“None will cross the boundary to my home. They, at least, have sense,” Mistress Costello said coldly. “Leave it there. It won’t be touched.” 

Gwen bit her lip, offering a silent apology to Rhys. She was doing this for him, though, and she was sure she would be forgiven. 

It was a short walk to the witch, but every step felt heavy with foreboding. “After you,” Mistress Costello gestured. This close, she was even more beautiful. 

With trepidation, Gwen stepped inside. 

* * *

In the orange light of the hearth, Mistress Costello looked unearthly, the flickering flames reflected in her eyes. Her hair tumbled loose and free down to her shoulders, her clothes as rich as they had been when she had fled from the village, her dark red wool dress embroidered beautifully. 

In her worn green cloak, her muddy skirts, with leaves tangled in her hair, Gwen felt a little inadequate.

“The laws that govern life and death are powerful magic,” Mistress Costello said, looking Gwen straight in the eye. “It is nothing a novice could do. Your grandmother had a gift for visions. This is nothing like that.” 

“I know that,” Gwen said. “It’s dark magic. It costs you.” 

The witch threw her head back and laughed. “‘Dark Magic’, hah. Gwyneth filled your head with tall tales, girl. There’s no such thing as _dark_ magic.” 

Suddenly, her posture changed, becoming sharper, and her voice was much like that of the preacher’s, teaching his flock his sermons. “Magic is a living, breathing thing. It’s all around us, surrounding us, binding us. There is as much magic in a lump of coal as there is in you or I. It is alive, and it is _hungry._

“The price we pay to use magic is to feed it. _Light_ magic is magic that does not cost much. Some of your own energy or that drawn from the light of the moon. Energy that is quickly replenished, easily done. Something that can be fixed with a good night’s sleep.” Mistress Costello looked contemplative for a second, then she gave Gwen a sharp grin, all teeth and no warmth. “It is magic for dabblers, like your grandmother.”

Gwen almost wanted to object, but held her tongue.

“Witches,” Mistress Costello said, leaning forward, and it was almost as if the flames in her eyes were more real than the hearth that lay between them, “are people who do not dabble. We pay the price asked by the earth in return for our power. It is a price that cannot be paid by only us - or if it is, it costs us more than you can even imagine.” 

“Your soul,” Gwen whispered. 

Mistress Costello rolled her eyes. “Human lives, human _potential_ \- that is something magic craves. It takes, and it takes, and if you aren’t careful, it will eat you whole and spit you out an empty shell. And it is very easy to not be careful. You may think you are safe, paddling in the shallows, until a riptide catches you and drags you under.” 

Despite the roaring fire, Gwen suddenly felt very cold. 

“I will not ask you to bring him back; that is my burden to bear,” she said carefully. “All I ask is that you teach me.” 

“Aren’t you listening? This is nothing like your grandmother’s charms and visions,” Mistress Costello snapped. “It is hard! It takes time, and practice! I cannot ‘teach’ you to bend the laws of nature just like that!” She snapped her fingers in emphasis. “You need to have a basic grounding in theory, in general magic - this kind of exchange is something even an experienced practitioner would balk at!” 

“I understand,” Gwen began, but Mistress Costello cut her off. 

“I don’t think you do. This kind of magic can take _years_ to teach.” 

Gwen squared her jaw. “I don’t have years. I will find someone else if I must.” She rose, intending to walk out the door, but something rooted her to the spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mistress Costello’s outstretched arm and clenched fist. “Let me go!” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

“You foolish child,” Mistress Costello said, standing up and coming around the fire, inserting herself into Gwen’s space. “You’ll get yourself killed out there at this time of night.” 

“I am not a child.” She met the witch’s eyes. 

Mistress Costello studied her, her eyes sweeping over Gwen from head to toe. She raised her hand and traced the curve of Gwen’s cheek with a single, delicate finger. “No, not a child,” she murmured, as if to herself. “But foolish nonetheless.” 

Gwen stood very, very still, even as she felt the magic release her. “Perhaps I am a fool too,” the other woman said, lowering her hand again and stepping away. “Stay a month, and I will teach you the basics of magic. If I cannot persuade you to drop this, then I will show you how to raise the dead.” 

Agreement danced on the tip of her tongue, before she remembered: Ianto. 

But he was an adult now, she reminded herself. A man grown, he could take care of himself. Even if the village folk still looked at him with more fear in their eyes than welcome. Even if they whispered to each other whenever he went to the market with her. 

He would be _fine,_ she told herself.

“Yes,” she said, and hoped she wasn’t making a terrible decision. 

* * *

_Gwen had always been an odd child._

_Between the death of her parents and the reputation of her assumed guardian - her grandmother - she had amassed a great deal of rumour about her before she had reached the age of ten, and by the time she was thirteen, she had found herself almost entirely excluded from the rest of the children in the village. Except for Rhys, of course - but he was different._

_She didn’t begrudge her life or even her oddness, but she was lonely._

_“Why do they not like me?” she asked her grandmother one day, as she helped her peel potatoes. Cooking, Gwen was allowed to help with. The tinctures and potions and poultices her grandmother made, she was not._

_“Because they know they are not like you,” Grandmother replied. “People always fear what is different.”_

_“Why am I different, though?”_

_“Because you are special,” Grandmother said, and leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “The prettiest flowers are always the most unique.”_

_(Sometimes, Gwen thought her grandmother was the smartest woman in the world. Other times, she was convinced the woman was frustratingly cryptic on purpose.)_

_Perhaps her grandmother could sense that Gwen was unhappy with that answer, because she gave Gwen a smile. “Why don’t you go collect me some dandelions to make some syrup, darling? The leaves and roots too please - I need to make another batch of Thomas’ remedy.”_

_Gwen was happy to drop her knife onto the chopping board and bound out of the door, waving a distracted hand at her grandmother’s shout of “Be careful!”_

_The woods were off limits, but the little stream that came to the edge of them was safe enough, and the fertile soil was rich with the just-budding flowers. She knew, of course, that her grandmother’s offer was also to keep her distracted and that she wouldn’t be expected home until dinner, so collecting the dandelions could wait. She could just dip her toes in the cold water and look for fish or frogs, and wait for the sun to begin to set. So that was what she did._

_“I don’t suppose you know why they don’t like me?” she asked the bubbling brook. It gave her no answer. She sighed._

_“I don’t really_ **_need_ ** _them to like me,” she reasoned aloud. “It’s not that I don’t have friends. I have Rhys!”_

_But Rhys had half of the girls and all of the boys in the village to play with. As much as he wanted to spend time with her, he was very often busy with all of them._

_She pulled her feet out of the water when it began to feel just a touch too icy, and flopped down on her stomach, wondering if she would be told off for the grass stains. “I just… I wish I had someone who was my best friend, like Rhys has. Someone to love me, no matter what.”_

_A gentle breeze tickled over Gwen’s shoulders, stroking her neck, and it sounded almost like a whisper in her ear. She shivered, frowning, and glanced up._

_Only to see someone stumbling out of the woods._

_Gwen scrambled to her feet, immediately on guard. No one should be in those woods - only fools and bandits roamed there (and the only woodsman, Thomas, but he always entered by the North Path, which was at least kept neat and tidy) - because they were dangerous. Grandmother had told her that they belonged to the Fair Folk, and while they wouldn’t hurt Gwen, they didn’t take kindly to trespassers._

_But the person didn’t look like a bandit, or a fool. He looked like a little boy._

_“Hello?” Gwen called, and he looked up, eyes wide. “Are you alright?”_

_The boy simply stared at her for a moment, and she took a cautious step forward. His feet were bare, and his clothes looked ragged. She frowned, concern beginning to outweigh her vigilance. “Are you lost?” she tried again, and watched his eyes dart around, as if looking for an escape route. She hoped he didn’t run into the woods._

_“My name’s Gwen; what’s yours?” She took another step, and this close, she could see bruises and scratches all over his pale, skinny arms. “Do you live in the village? I can take you home.”_

_“I-” the boy started, his voice very high and young. “I don’t know. I don’t know where I am?”_

_“I can take you to my house - perhaps my grandmother knows your parents, and she can-” Gwen faltered as the boy gave a full body flinch._

_“Please don’t send me back!”_

_“Okay, I won’t, I promise.” She put her hands up. “But you look like you’re hurt, and my grandmother is a healer. She can help you.”_

_The boy gave her a wary once-over, before taking a step forward, clearly deciding she wasn’t a threat. The step brought him out of the shadows the trees cast, and the setting sun highlighted the marks and abrasions. Gwen frowned when she realised the bruises looked to match finger-prints._

_“My name’s Gwen,” she said again, offering him a hand. “What’s yours?”_

_Cautiously, he took it. “Ianto.”_

_(Something in the back of Gwen’s mind clicked into place that day, and after that, Gwen never had a chance to feel lonely ever again.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter snippet:  
>  _“Here,” the witch said, indicating a small grove. Gwen would have walked right past it if Mistress Costello had not stopped her with a raised hand. It was almost as if her eyes would slip away from it._  
>  _When she finally managed to focus, her hand flew up over her mouth with a gasp._  
>  _It was mid-spring, and the flowers should be just blooming. Instead, the leaves on the trees were just browning, and the grass was tall and dry. There was a small rose-bush at the edge of the clearing, and the roses were old and withered looking._  
>  _It felt, to Gwen’s senses, unbearably **wrong** , as if something terrible had happened here. The land was crying, and the black pulsing void around Mistress Costello coiled and hissed like a living creature._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again beta'd by the beautiful and lovely @princessoftheworlds (go show nik love!)

Dawn had barely begun to filter through the trees when Mistress Costello toed her awake, already dressed and looking like she had been up for hours. 

“Up,” she ordered. “The sooner we do this, the easier it will be for you.” 

Gwen scrubbed at her bleary eyes, blinking back to awareness, the events of the past three days returning to her in quick succession. Rhys was dead. Gwen was going to save him. “Easier for what?” 

“To raise the dead,” Mistress Costello snapped. 

That shook off the last remnants of sleep, and Gwen sat up quickly, her eyes widening. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Be ready.” With that, she turned on her heel and left Gwen alone in the cottage. 

Gwen hurriedly scrambled to her feet, ignoring the chill of the room. She felt a little disgusting, wearing her shift for the third day running, but she ignored it, pulling on her green dress and lacing the sides with practiced ease. There was little she could do about the dried mud caked on the hem or the flecks that she noticed trailing up her stockings as she pulled them on. She hadn’t had space to bring any changes with her. 

Her hair, at least, had mostly stayed in the neat braids Ianto had given her, and she hurriedly tucked it into her bonnet. 

Gwen was just slipping her shoes on as Mistress Costello returned, carrying a small basket. She assessed Gwen with judgmental eyes that lingered on the dirt but did not comment, instead placing her load on the table-high shelf that followed the entire wall. 

“Come on, then,” the witch said impatiently. “Grab your cart.” 

“Where are we going?” Gwen asked, hurrying after her as she exited, but she paused at the door. 

The body wrapped in sheets still lay untouched in her little hand-pulled cart, looking cold and lonely in the soft light filtering through the trees. Two full days had passed since his death, and they were entering the third. Soon, the body would begin to smell, the sickly stench of rot drawing predators and scavengers alike. 

Mistress Costello glanced at her. “We are dealing with that,” she said. “I assume you don’t want a half-rotted corpse for a husband.” 

Gwen shook her head. “You can stop that?” 

“With enough power, anything is possible,” Mistress Costello said, smugness colouring her tone. “A necromancer with power could imbibe bones with the essence of life. You, however, are no necromancer.” 

“What are we doing?” 

Mistress Costello sighed as if Gwen’s questions were a great burden. “There is a place nearby. Nothing grows, but nothing rots either. We will place it there, and it will remain unchanged until you are ready to give up on this ridiculous venture.” 

Gwen squared her shoulders, and reached for her cart. “Until I bring him back, you mean.” 

“Arrogant girl.” The witch shook her head. “Follow me.” 

They had been walking in silence for almost ten minutes, Gwen stumbling on the thick layer of autumn leaves and struggling with the weight, while Mistress Costello seemed to glide across the forest floor. 

“Here,” the witch said finally, indicating a small grove. Gwen would have walked right past it if Mistress Costello had not stopped her with a raised hand. It was almost as if her eyes would slip away from it. 

When she finally managed to focus, her hand flew up over her mouth with a gasp.

It was mid-spring, and the flowers should be just blooming. Instead, the leaves on the trees were just browning, and the grass was tall and dry. There was a small rose-bush at the edge of the clearing, and the yellow roses were old and withered looking.

It felt, to Gwen’s senses, unbearably _wrong,_ as if something terrible had happened here. The land was crying, and the black pulsing void around Mistress Costello coiled and hissed like a living creature. 

“What happened here?” Gwen asked, horrified. Whatever it was, it was unnatural. 

“Another stupid girl with big dreams,” Mistress Costello said dismissively, but there was a tinge of sorrow under her sharp voice. “Put it here. Nothing comes to this place. Nothing living, anyway.” 

“But what about-” 

“Can’t you sense it, girl?” Mistress Costello snapped. “This is an evil place. Things happened here that should not have. Put the corpse in there, but bring back the wagon. It will come in useful.” 

Gwen’s mouth snapped shut with a click, and she did as she was bid. She ignored the churning of her stomach as she stepped onto the cursed land, and rolled Rhys into the dusty ground, as gently as she could. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and tried not to blink at the prickling of her eyes. “I’m coming back for you, love.” 

Then she turned her back on him resolutely, and rejoined the witch. Mistress Costello watched her with inscrutable eyes, but when Gwen stepped back into the woods, she gave her a nod. It was almost like approval. 

“Come now,” Mistress Costello said. “It is time for your first lesson.” 

* * *

_“Why do people look at Grandmother so strangely?”_

_Gwen was relieved that Ianto had stopped catching himself when he called Gwyneth ‘Grandmother’. It meant he was beginning to settle in with them, where he belonged. She didn’t look up from her stitching, treating it as if it was an everyday thing. Soon, it would be._

_“Because she’s special,” Gwen answered patiently. Ianto asking questions had been a fairly recent development, and Grandmother said they ought to encourage it._

_“Because she looks really young?”_

_“Because she’s magic.”_

_Ianto considered that answer for a moment, before accepting the answer. “Is that why they look at you too?”_

_“I suppose,” Gwen replied. “But I’m not magic like her.”_

_He frowned. “Yes, you are.”_

_“No.” She shook her head. “Grandmother does magic. I don’t.”_

_“But you see things,” Ianto said, like it was some kind of undeniable fact._

_“That’s not magic,” Gwen explained. “I have a touch of the Sight, that’s all. Grandmother says magic is dangerous.”_

_(Gwyneth was not in the habit of lying to her granddaughter. This was one of the few lies she told. The day after she said it, she woke up with a few grey hairs.)_

_“What’s the difference?”_

_Gwen shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I suppose magic is something you do? There has to be some kind of intent - some kind of belief. I don’t try to see things; it just happens to me.”_

_“Like how I happened to you,” Ianto said as if it made perfect sense. And it did, in a way. Ianto was a part of her, just like her Sight and the fact her hair was brown._

_“I guess so.” She finally looked up to give him a smile. He gave her a hesitant one back, looking a little lopsided with his newly gap-toothed smile, and she reminded herself that she ought to give the tooth that fell out to Grandmother for safe keeping. There was a lot someone could do with something of your body, she was pretty sure._

_“Do you want me to help you?” Ianto asked, changing the subject to point at the shoddily mended tear. She gave him a pleading look in return._

_“Please,” she said gratefully, not at all embarrassed about being shown up by a nine-year-old. “I just don’t know how you do it so neatly!”_

* * *

Mistress Costello had a small table in the corner of her cottage. It was covered in a red cloth, pillar candles at one corner. A knife lay at the centre with a bowl of water and a stick Gwen thought might be incense. 

“This is an altar,” Mistress Costello said. “Not every witch must have one, but it is useful.” Like the night before, her voice and posture changed as she began to teach, her body language becoming more open. 

“There are four basic magical elements. Fire,” she began, indicating to the candles, “creates and destroys. It is a purifying kind of destruction, and from the ashes new life will spring. Some say its energy is _masculine,_ which is - forgive my language - utter horseshit.” 

Gwen glanced at Mistress Costello, surprised at the mirth in her eyes. “Firstly, gender and magic _can_ be linked, but most recognised magical theory comes from learned Churchmen, and you know _their_ opinion on women,” she said wryly. “Cold, wet - these are so-called _feminine_ traits. I don’t know about you, but the most fiery tempers I’ve ever met have been almost unilaterally women. Your grandmother included.” 

A giggle escaped Gwen before she could stifle it, and Mistress Costello smirked. Gwen could only watch, wide-eyed, as the witch then _lit a candle with her finger._ “Fire is one of the elements I work best with,” she said. “Air and fire - both ‘masculine’, both mine. Ignore anything that tries to say how you should practice. You should learn the rules only so you can learn how to break them properly.”

For the next hour, she discussed the meaning of each element on the table, the use of each tool, and how she personally used each one, checking in with Gwen and asking questions to ensure she understood. It felt like her grandmother’s lessons, as if she could turn her head and see nine-year-old Ianto listening intently, scribbling his newly learned letters down on his slate. But Mistress Costello was no Gwyneth Cooper, she reminded herself as she was dragged out of the memory. 

(“Water brings life. It too purifies, but it is associated with healing and also clarity of vision.” She looked at Gwen, her eyes deep and searching. “This is the element I think you should work with the most.” 

“Why?” 

“Just a feeling,” she said and moved on.)

Eventually, though, she seemed to be winding down. “The altar is mostly for rituals - spells that take days, months, even years to come to fruition. The kind of magic that takes the most energy. You don’t _need_ it, but it is easier.” 

“I think Grandmother had something like this,” Gwen said, recalling vaguely the small cupboard her grandmother had forbade her from ever opening. She had glanced inside only once, when the door had been open just a crack - the cloth had been blue, perhaps, but it had all looked very similar. 

Mistress Costello snorted. “Of course she did. She always liked to play with things she didn’t understand.” 

Gwen bit her tongue at the insult and turned to face Mistress Costello. 

“I thought you were going to teach me about magic, not bring up old grudges,” she said, and watched Mistress Costello’s eyes narrow. “My grandmother is dead. Leave your quarrel in the past.” 

“There was no quarrel,” Mistress Costello snapped. “She was simply a woman meddling with things that should not be meddled with.” She took a deep breath, seemingly calming herself. “I am trying to stop you from making the same mistake.” 

Gwen wasn’t sure how to reply to that, her mouth opening then snapping shut again. Thankfully, Mistress Costello seemed to want to move on as quickly as she did. “Neither of us have eaten,” she said. “I got some fresh eggs - I will make breakfast, if you will go fetch some water from the stream behind the property. There should be a bucket by the door.” 

She hesitated for a moment, before Mistress Costello glared at her. Gwen went to do as she was told. 

* * *

Their meal was eaten in silence. Without being asked, Gwen tidied their plates up, scraping the remnants into the bucket Mistress Costello indicated with a nod. When she had gone to fetch water, she’d spotted the chicken pen around the back of the cottage and the small, well-tended garden, and she supposed they would be put to good use. 

The quiet allowed her to observe more of the cottage. While Gwen’s home had two rooms - a kitchen and living area with a bed for Ianto, and the bedroom she and Rhys shared, that doubled as her brother’s workroom - Mistress Costello only had one, but it was large, and she made good use of the space.

There was, of course, the altar. A single, narrow bed was tucked in the corner opposite it, but it was draped with fine fabrics, protecting her from the insects that may fall from the thatched roof. At its foot lay a large wooden chest, and Gwen wondered what lay inside. The pallet Gwen had slept on was tucked into the opposite corner of Mistress Costello’s bed, bare and hard; Gwen hoped that she would be able to put a few blankets on it tonight. A hearth sat in the middle of the room, a cooking pot hanging from a spit atop of it. Shelves lined the walls were filled with books - real books, a single book worth more than anything Gwen had ever owned - and pinned to the walls and hanging from the ceiling were drying herbs.

It felt like her home had when her grandmother had been around. Familiar, safe, and just a tiny bit magic. 

Finally, Mistress Costello broke the silence. “I have agreed to teach you magic, and I won’t go back on that. But I have one condition.” 

_Of course there would be a catch,_ Gwen thought. (That was what happened when one made a deal.)

“We will share all the chores, all the work - you are not a guest but an apprentice. That means you will have to earn your living here. Do you understand?” 

Gwen nodded, surprised the cost was not higher. “Of course.”

“In turn, you are my responsibility,” the witch said, standing up. “It will be my job to make sure you are fed, clothed, housed, protected. You will listen to my rules and obey them, and in turn, I will listen to your suggestions.” 

Gwen blinked, then nodded again. 

“Good girl,” Mistress Costello said, and nodded towards the large chest. “Take a few shifts from in there. You will take care of them and return them to me when you are done. I don’t think any of my dresses will fit, but perhaps one can be let out. We can wash your current one tonight - I will make sure it will be dry by the morning.”

“Thank you,” Gwen managed, surprised at her kindness. 

“You won’t be thanking me later,” Mistress Costello promised darkly.

* * *

_“If you marry me, they will whisper about you too,” Gwen said, not looking at Rhys. At twenty-one, she and Rhys were of an age that they were expected to, not that Gwen had had many offers. Rhys had options though, and she knew that his parents were pressuring him to choose one of the eligible young ladies from the village. The daughter of the baker seemed like a good choice: she, unlike Gwen, could at least cook without supervision._

_“I don’t care,” Rhys said fiercely. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him toeing his shoes off, and he joined her by the water, dangling his own feet by the brook. “Let them whisper. I love you.”_

_“You could have a normal life,” she said. “A normal wife. A baby that isn’t of my blood. You could be happy.”_

_“I am happy with you,” Rhys retorted, tangling their fingers together. “I want to be with you, you daft woman.”_

_She finally turned to look at him, and he was smiling. Rhys had a face made for smiling, she thought, and this smile was the one he reserved just for her, soft and full of warmth and love. “It’s not just me, you know,” she warned him._

_“I’m aware,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t mind being in the kitchen with you. I’m perfectly okay with living with your brother, and I don’t care that you’re weird. I can live with the stares and whispers and stories, because that’s just the price I pay to spend the rest of my life with you.”_

_Gwen had to kiss him then, this man who sat next to her on the riverbank and thrust his toes into the icy water to show solidarity with her, this man who saw her and all her oddness and said, yes, I want you anyway._

_“I love you,” she whispered, and happiness burbled in her chest like the waters below._

_“And I love you.” Rhys cupped her face. “Forever.”_

* * *

The next week was long and hard, and Gwen fell asleep on her pallet every night, too exhausted to sleep. She learned about the cycles of the moon, and how it affected the tides and spells; she learned about the quiet magic of different times of day, the various associations and powers of herbs. Every night, she watched Mistress Costello write in a leather-bound book, and every night, she bit her tongue and did not ask. 

She wondered how Ianto was. She wished she could check on him, tell him she was safe, that she was getting somewhere. She wished she could tell him about how _boring_ magic was, how much theory and ‘basic principles’ she was being forced to learn. 

_I am getting closer, though,_ she said in the letter she was composing in her head. _We’re going to start doing practical stuff soon; I can feel it. And soon, we’ll be home again, me and Rhys. Just you wait._

Every morning, she slipped away for a few minutes to sit in the dead clearing. It made her feel awful, but she couldn’t just leave Rhys alone, not without visiting him. Mistress Costello knew, no doubt, but what could she do about it? Gwen always completed her tasks on time. 

But the witch did not let her get away with it without any remarks. 

“You are just like your grandmother,” she said when Gwen returned from her last vigil. “Completely unable to let things go.” 

“You’re the one who still has a rivalry with a ghost,” Gwen snapped. 

Mistress Costello’s nostrils flared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned away from Gwen. 

“No, maybe not. But maybe I do,” she said, a little nastily. “You can’t stop thinking about it, can you? That they cast you out, when she still had a home.” 

Mistress Costello did not speak to her for hours, after that. 

Despite the tension, though - Gwen found that she was enjoying herself. Oh, she never forgot why she was here, couldn’t ignore the ache under her breastbone with every breath she took saying _he’s dead, he’s gone, he’s not coming back._ But she could remind herself that he _would,_ that Gwen would save him. This would only last a short while. She could feel good about learning, feel good about Mistress Costello’s praise. 

It felt like knowledge she had always known, in a way. It felt good, right - natural. It felt like she had just dipped her toes into her stream and was desperate to go for a proper swim. 

_Soon,_ she promised Ianto and Rhys. _Very soon,_ she said to herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snippet of the next chapter:   
> _“I’m Captain Jack Harkness,” the man said with the kind of smile that shone a touch too brightly to be real. “And who might you be?”_
> 
> _“My apprentice,” Mistress Costello snapped at him. “So keep your hands and eyes to yourself.”_


End file.
